


It is like dancing

by Comedia



Category: The Desolation of Smaug, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, I am now a fic-wraith, M/M, and it was supposed to be happy, but now it's kind of sad, fan-wraith?, this movie ruined me, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comedia/pseuds/Comedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so Bilbo moves closer, still shivering from the ice cold water and smelling of fish, he stands next to Thorin, keeping his distance yet always within reach, always close enough to touch, but never actually touching.</p><p>“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He tries to be respectful. To keep his voice mild. It is an intrusive question, and he knows as much. Had this happened at the beginning of their journey he would not have dared ask it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It is like dancing

In some sense, it is like a dance – a dance much unlike anything he experienced in The Shire. Bilbo will find himself close to Thorin more often than not, always a distance between them but still close enough to touch. Not that they do, in fact, touch. It is much more complicated than that.

Every so often he will find himself stumbling to keep up; every so often Thorin will do the same, because while he does not underestimate the smarts of a hobbit, Bilbo will still surprise him every once in a while, and he finds great joy in those moments. Thorin's eyes will linger on him, looking him over as if they have only just met. Each day of the journey they are both painted in new light, and they keep dancing. Always within reach of each other, yet never close enough.

Sleeping in Beorn's house Bilbo is painfully aware of the beasts just outside the doors, but as he is kept awake he is just as aware of the even breathing not too far away; a sound he has learned to differentiate from the cacophony of snoring that erupts every evening; just the presence of Thorin is enough to keep him calm throughout the night.

And the same way he has never known such calm at night, he has never known such panic as when hearing the whispers of the spiders; fearing he would be too late. Slashing through webs and insects alike he does not only find his courage, but something deep rooted and horrible. For the first time he knows greed, and the sickness of selfishness. He tries to hide from his own emotions; the shadow in his mind that this quest has brought upon him. And he yearns for Thorin's presence – steadfast and stubborn, but now out of reach. It is a selfish thing to want, but Bilbo has been eavesdropping long enough to know of the sickness that plagues the line of Durin; he has heard the whispers of greed that leaves nothing but insanity in its wake, and for the first time it is a burden he can both understand and share. He has known the lure of that which glitters, and he knows now that the shadows following Thorin are much more than bitterness and a lust for vengeance.

The elves are nothing compared to the monsters of the forest, and Bilbo is fairly calm as he walks the paths of Thranduil's land. He had his fascination with elves satisfied in Rivendell, and so he is not the least distracted from the task of setting his friends free.

Standing in front of the bars, watching Thorin stripped of weapons and equipment, he does not see defeat. The dwarven prince carries his sentence with a royal dignity, and Bilbo knows that there is a king under the mountain still; all he needs is to find his way home.

It is a quiet moment of reflection, and he almost, almost reaches out – through the bars meant to hold much greater beasts than a hobbit. It would be easy. But even like this, he is not meant to close the distance between them. It is not time yet, and while he knows that it is futile to dwell on these things, he fears that perhaps the time will never come. Neither of them will reach out, and they will always be separated by metal.

Taking a deep breath he removes the ring and watches – with great satisfaction – Thorin rush to the bars of his cell, grabbing hold of the metal as he is staring at Bilbo, eyes wide with both surprise and amazement. They have not been separated for long, but there is something very comforting in the baritone of Thorin’s voice, the way he speaks with trust, and allows Bilbo to be in command.

Their world is nothing but chaos as they are flushed down the stream, hunted by orcs and elves alike. His memories are jumbled, only scattered images of his friends fighting. There is pride in his heart as he remembers Thorin protecting one of the elves; a selfless act that has Bilbo believing there is hope yet. They are fighting for good, and neither of them will give in to the darkness, no matter what lurks in their minds.

He would think happier thoughts; think of a beautiful world where there is no room for bothersome subjects like these, but when there is not much to do except freezing aboard Bard’s boat, the cold brings nothing but unpleasant things to mind.

Entering Lake-town he sees a place bearing scars similar to the dwarven company. The memory of dragon fire close to the surface, and a society that has not managed to recover from it yet.

It is the kind of tragedy he has never experienced personally, but the more he sees, the more he is able to grasp the enormity of it. He is starting to unravel Thorin, to truly understand the dark place that he and the company are coming from. It is a subject he is uncertain of how to breach, but he will do it anyway, not only because he needs to know, but also because it is obvious that Thorin has a need for his thoughts to be heard. He will not speak them freely and they will – without anyone bringing up the subject – most likely become yet another piece of armor; another layer of anger to Thorin’s already troubled mind.

And so Bilbo moves closer, still shivering from the ice cold water and smelling of fish, he stands next to Thorin, keeping his distance yet always within reach, always close enough to touch, but never actually touching.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He tries to be respectful. To keep his voice mild. It is an intrusive question, and he knows as much. Had this happened at the beginning of their journey he would not have dared ask it at all.

Thorin does not say much, except confirm that, in a way, he has. He explains the bow’s dwarven origins, and as they look at the weapon together Bilbo feels a pain in his chest. He cannot imagine what it must be like to have such a thing remind you of home. And he moves a little closer; wraps the blanket he has so graciously been given tightly around himself, trying to relish the warmth. It is futile. He’s cold to the core, they all are. And he is so close, but there is a weight in his pocket and Thorin’s voice holds memories of riches more often than not. They both know the lure of that which glitters, it is an unspoken burden, and so it will remain. The dance will continue, close and always with a polite distance. A companionship never quite shared.

Except Thorin drapes his arm over Bilbo’s shoulder, the gesture holding both warmth and comfort. For a moment the world is nothing but this; Thorin’s body pressed along the side of his; Thorin’s fingers scratching the back of his neck and playing with the curls of his hair.

“You are still shivering.” The always steady baritone, teasing in how it can make the most ordinary observation sound amusing and intimate.

“I do not normally swim in ice cold water, thank you very much.” Bilbo finds himself sounding grumpy as always, but how else could he possibly deal with this. Distance has always been an important part of their relationship until this point. The change is welcome, but sudden, and he finds himself lost in Thorin’s touch.

“It would not surprise me if midwinter skinny dipping was yet another peculiar hobbit tradition.” Thorin makes the comment without batting an eye, his composure solemn and majestic. Bilbo, on the other hand, does not even laugh. He makes an embarrassing sound that could only be described as a snort, and in the end there is no point in trying to hide it.

It has been a long time when he could have reached out, but decided not to, and he is hesitant even now. Slowly he raises his arm, trailing Thorin’s back with his fingertips and finally letting his hand rest on Thorin’s hip. It is a slow process, giving the dwarven prince more than enough time to pull away, but he does not. Instead he leans in to the touch, his eyes fluttering shut while he is taking deep breaths. He is not exactly relaxing, but some of the tension seems to leave him for a moment.

And perhaps, Bilbo thinks, perhaps the promise of home will do that to you. They are so very close now. If they, for once, are granted some luck, they will reach the Lonely Mountain in less than a day. More hardship awaits them there surely; taking on a dragon could not possibly be easy, even if the beast is asleep. Their journey will come to an end soon enough, so perhaps this moment was always meant for them; for change.

But as he ponders Erebor and the probable outcomes, Bilbo cannot ignore the other possibility; that they do not actually know what awaits them, and that neither of them is properly prepared to face whatever challenge that might be; that perhaps this is the last moment of calm they get, and that they are desperately clinging to it.

Of course, it is not in his nature to feel hopeless. A bit grumpy? Sure. But without hope? Never.  
And yet his grip on Thorin’s hip tightens, his fingers almost clawing the still wet clothing. He leans in close, resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder, breathing in his scent as if they will never share this intimacy again.

There is the soft touch of Thorin playing with Bilbo’s hair still, fingertips trailing slowly, only to settle at the nape of his neck. The sort of embrace that feels safe, and for a moment it is as if their journey has been leading up to this. As if this is the home they have been searching for all this time. But their story could not have such an easy ending, not after everything they have been through, and so, they let go.

When they part it is with surprising grace, like they are strangers that have spent a night at a merry tavern in each-other’s company, dancing and smiling beneath the starlight. And as they join the others Bilbo ignores the weight in his pocket, because that which glitters is insignificant. He reminds himself that this is only the beginning; that the distance will be different now, perhaps even non-existent; because the rules of the dance have changed, and now unexpected twists and turns await them.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write short things on [tumblr](http://comediakaidanovsky.tumblr.com/) as well (but mostly I just cry about fictional characters).


End file.
